A Breakdown of Years
by Aegroto Dum Anima
Summary: A breakdown of the years of Dean and Sam's lives. Told second person. Ch. 2 added: Sam's perspective.
1. Chapter 1

A Breakdown of Years

Author's Note: This has been in my head for a while. Please do drop a note; good bad or ugly.

Disclaimer: Everything's mine. Burn.

Summary: A breakdown of the years of Dean's life. Told second person.

One is innocence. It's over-zealous relatives claming every little gurgle is a word. It's a thousand photographs taken on a thousand cameras, put in a thousand albums all creatively labeled: Dean, Year One.

Two is homemade vanilla cupcakes, hot from the oven, topped with blue icing that you swear tastes like the sky.

Three is rides on Dad's shoulders and Mom telling you bedtime stories. It's going to the park on weekends to play catch with your brand new baseball glove.

Four is Sammy and kissing your little brother goodnight and asking a hundred times a day when he'll be big enough to play on the swings with you. Four is the fire and fear and your life changing into something inconceivable without you even knowing it.

Five is moving three times in as many months and Dad lying about your age so you can start karate class a year early. It's Dad starting to talk about strange things and all the neighbors calling him crazy.

Six is starting school four times, in four different schools, in four different towns. It's Dad giving you a Glock for your birthday and teaching you about all those strange things while Sammy bangs pot lids together in the kitchen.

Seven is Dad showing you the proper way to hold a knife and how to aim your pistol more accurately and sparring with you on weekends while the other kids play softball. It's you reading Sammy stories at night because Dad isn't home or he's busy cleaning the shotgun.

Eight is the first time Dad comes home bloody and, though he says it's nothing, you realize that, not only are the strange things he talks about real, but that they'll hurt you if they can. So, you start sleeping with a knife under your pillow because you're never going to let them catch you unprepared and you're never, _never_ going to let them hurt Sammy.

Nine is your first hunt, and you don't know if it's fear or adrenaline that's making your heart beat so very fast. And when that thing comes at you, you're just shooting and shooting and shooting… and when it's dead, you feel good – so good – because that thing would have hurt you, would have hurt Dad, would have hurt Sammy, would have hurt that nice family that gave you cookies when Dad told them they didn't have anything to worry about anymore. And you want to kill another.

Ten is hunting in the evenings and helping Dad teach Sammy how to fire his first gun. It's Sammy starting karate – a year later than you, because he's so small – and showing him 'secret moves' on the weekend.

Eleven is making sure Sammy always has food to eat and clean clothes to wear; that he does his homework and gets to school on time, because Dad's away too much to do it. It's learning fractions in the day, Latin at night and bow hunting on the weekends when Dad's home.

Twelve is learning to use the shotgun and practicing for hours even though the kickback leaves your shoulder aching. It's sleeping on the floor in Sammy's room for weeks because he has a closet monster and you aren't going to let it hurt one hair on his head – and just because this time is was imaginary, that doesn't mean it couldn't have been real.

Thirteen is Sammy's first hunt and he's holding your hand almost as tightly as you're holding your pistol. It's the first time you dig up a grave and Dad has to lift you out of the hole before lighting the body because you're too small to pull yourself up.

Fourteen is Dad being accused of child abuse after you and Sammy show up at school wearing the bruises a mothman put on you. It's trying to make Sammy smile when he's sad, by telling him it's snowing and taking him out to build a fort and go sledding.

Fifteen is your first poltergeist and your first broken nose. It's getting Sammy better with a knife and a gun and his fists and telling him not to cry when Dad yelled at him for wanting to play soccer instead of bow hunting.

Sixteen is when the girls really start to notice you. It's pounding the tar out of three kids bigger than you because they were going to beat on Sammy. It's one of Dad's 'contacts' teaching you to fence with the sword collection hidden in his basement.

Seventeen is wielding the shotgun one-handed and blasting the shit out of that fucker in Michigan. It's _Sam_ insisting he doesn't want to be called 'Sammy' anymore and you ignoring the request because he'll always be your Sammy.

Eighteen is besting Dad eight out of ten times when you spar and quitting karate because you can beat all your teachers. It's skipping prom to duke it out with some goblin-type-thing that you never really bothered to classify, and, yeah, you're pissed that it went for your ribs because it's going to hurt to drive for a couple days, but, damn, was it awesome when you got your knife in its throat.

Nineteen is no longer allowing Sammy to pin you when you're practicing – if he wants to best you, he'll have to earn it. It's Sammy coming to you after a close call on the job and asking you to burn and salt his body if he gets killed, so he won't ever become a monster and you asking him to do the same for you.

Twenty is teaching Sammy how to get girls and how to shave and how to make plastique in the garage. It's getting busted by the cops at a check stop for having a loaded rifle on the passenger seat and Dad talking them down to a fine before congratulating you on a damn fine shot that night.

Twenty one is Dad stopping at a bar to take you for a drink on your birthday and, though you appreciate it, you think it's funny, because, according to your ID, you've been twenty one longer than you've been sixteen. It's being better than Dad at hustling pool and celebrating Sammy's straight A's with him when Dad all but ignored the accomplishment.

Twenty two is the fight you know you can't fix no matter how good you've gotten at it. It's Dad screaming and shouting until the door slams behind Sammy and then it's Dad breaking down in tears. It's you standing stricken and distraught in the front entry way for nearly an hour before you find yourself destroying everything in your room, hollering after your little brother who's already much too far away to hear… or for you to protect.

Twenty three is being on the road with Dad and a nice new scar up your arm that that redhead in Alabama thought was so sexy. It's swinging by Stanford whenever you can, to check up on Sammy and make sure he's safe.

Twenty four is a brief hospital stay after the rifle jammed, the demon taking full advantage, and Dad getting you the hell out of there before they realized your insurance was no good. It's that bitch of an exorcism in Delaware and wading knee-deep through the Florida Everglades after that, literal, swamp creature that nearly took your leg. It's missing Sammy.

Twenty five is busting Dad out of prison in Manhattan and earning another nice scar across the back of your thigh as reward for destroying your thirtieth poltergeist. It's watching Sammy from a distance as he strolls hand in hand with some pretty blonde across campus. It's feeling like you're farther from your little brother than you ever possibly could be and wishing there was something – anything – you could do to bring him back.

Twenty six is your world falling apart. It's Dad up and vanishing and you spending hours debating whether you should go to Sam, because in the four years he's been out, you've been banged up, bruised up and clawed open, but he's been safe. But – dammit – you can't do this on your own. Twenty six is the fire and nightmares and Sammy in the car with you again. It's you putting a gun back in your baby brother's hand. It's Sammy's whole world falling apart. And maybe it's a chance to start putting things back together.

Maybe not.


	2. Chapter 2

A Breakdown of Years  
Part II

Author's Note: I never planned on doing a follow-up to this piece… but I woke up one morning with Sam's year one in my head and figured I'd go for it. Everyone who asked about seeing Sam's perspective – this is for you.

Please do drop a note; good, bad or ugly.

Disclaimer: Everything's still mine. Burn.

Summary: A breakdown of the years of Sam's life. Told second person.

* * *

One is the fire and fear and death and doubt. It's your whole life becoming something unfathomable before there's even a chance to dream of another path. It's a thousand photos on a thousand cameras, all lost and unrecoverable; and a thousand years added to Dad's face in one night.

Two is moving around a lot and unfamiliar people and places. It's Dean making all those strange places feel like home, because he's always there, making funny faces and playing peek-a-boo.

Three is neighbours talking behind paper thin apartment walls and you don't really understand the _"poor boys"_ and _"fucking crazy father"_ and _"bet that guy knows his way around a bottle of Jack."_ It's snuggling under the blankets while Dean tells you bedtime stories about dragons and princes and ghosts and ghouls.

Four is trying to play 'the floor is lava' in Dean's room and him freaking out when you leap onto his bed, because he's scared you'll cut your feet on the knife you didn't know was under his pillow. It's slowly starting to realize that some of the things in Dean's bedtime stories aren't make-believe after all.

Five is staying with Pastor Jim for a week while Dad and Dean are out 'taking care of something.' It's Jim's stories about angels… and you're fascinated, because Dean never mentioned them.

Six is Lafayette, Louisiana and Dean taking you – bouncing, giddy and nervous – to your very first day of school at Broadmoor Elementary. It's Dad putting a huge, pearl-handled revolver in your hands and having you shoot at paint cans on a fence; and Dean teaching you 'super secret' moves to impress the other kids in your karate class.

Seven is being asked to draw your family in school and wondering what that look was on Dad's face when you drew Mommy too. It's Dad being gone a lot, but you don't really mind – not _really_ – because Dean takes super good care of you and because he makes the best Spaghetti-O's in the _world_.

Eight is running to Dad in the middle of the night because there's some_thing_ in your closet. It's Dad giving you a .45 and telling you to go back to bed; and it's Dean sleeping on the floor in your room for weeks – and that _thing_ never comes back, because it wouldn't _dare_… not so long as Dean's there.

Nine is your first hunt and you're shaking like a leaf and the only thing stopping you from bolting is Dean letting you hold his hand as tight as you want. And when that thing comes out of nowhere and heads right at you – _right _at _you_ – Dean's pulling you to safety and making sure you're protected before you're both just shooting and shooting and shooting… and when it's dead, you want to be sick… until you see how proud Dad is; how pleased and how proud.

Ten is moving to Illinois and you're real excited because Dean says it snows there in winter (and you let him believe you didn't know that already.) It's a week spent with some foster family, where you're crying your eyes out and Dean's trying so damn hard not to let you know he's worried sick too, until Dad manages to sort out some lie to explain away the bruises a mothman decorated you with.

Eleven is weekend drop-in soccer games at the park… until Dad put an end to that 'nonsense' and dragged you out bow hunting instead. It's Dean using M&M's to help you with your fractions and Dean sticking pictures of Magneto and Sinister on the paint cans to encourage you during target practice.

Twelve is Ray Bryle badmouthing your 'crazy family' and 'dead mother,' then taking a swing at your jaw when he didn't get a rise out of you. It's Dean teaching the guy and his lackeys a lesson – and you don't know whether you feel relieved and protected or embarrassed and pissed. It's being forced to practice with the shotgun, even though you're too small for it and the kickback leaves your shoulder aching.

Thirteen is Dean getting ripped apart by that fucker in Michigan even as he took it out. It's a stark hospital and being told not to get your hopes up. It's an overly sympathetic doctor calling you 'Kid' and your patronizing father calling you 'Sammy' and – _dammit_ – it's _Sam_ because you will _not_ sit there and be treated like some little child while _Dean_ could be _dying_ because of some _monster_ that, sure as shit, no little child could have helped to bring down. It's standing beside a hospital bed wondering why in the hell you're doing this…

Fourteen is bitching long and hard enough about not being able to go on the school's year end camping trip that Dean went to Dad himself and talked him into letting you attend. And, yeah, you're stoked as hell that you get to go, but you also feel like an ass – because it means Dean's going to have to miss his prom to go on that hunt that you're skipping… and because that goblin took a nice chunk out of your brother's side; and who knows if thing would've been different had you been there.

Fifteen is performing in "Our Town" with a cast on your arm since some particularly unpleasant poltergeist decided to throw you into a bookshelf the day before opening night – and Dean applauding over exuberantly from the back row, even though you know his bruised ribs must be complaining like a bitch from sitting in that hard plastic chair for so long.

Sixteen is accidentally walking in on Dean and him giving you THE Talk the next day, ending it – in true Dean fashion – with pointers and pick up lines to try. It's staying up ridiculously late while Dad's out, to try and finish your history essay and Dean stumbling into your room, piss drunk – and you feel a little guilty, but he almost never gets like this… but when he does, he'll talk about things he would _never_ discuss otherwise. But once he's passed out, you wish you hadn't pried – because you know your brother's dreaming of darkness and demons, not the cupcakes with blue sky icing that he deserves to.

Seventeen is ending the year with a 4.0 and, though Dad didn't seem to give a shit, Dean snuck you into a bar with a fake ID to celebrate. It's learning how to hustle and play cards, but trying for a part-time job anyway, because honest money just _feels_ so much better in your hands.

Eighteen is two nights pacing beside Dean in the world's shittiest motel room, terrified out of your head that Dad's going to be paralyzed – that slice carved out of his back is so low, so deep… It's two nights shaking in a different shitty motel; two nights too scared to open the letter that arrived Tuesday morning. It's _"Dad… full ride…"_ and _"You go, don't you bother coming back!"_ and finding Dean's best knife in your bag, though whether he's trying to say _'Good luck. I'm proud o' you. Be careful.'_ or _'You'll be crawling home in a week.' _you have no idea, but you don't care… because eighteen is freedom.

Nineteen is chaos - a wonderful, beautiful chaos. It's classes and projects and labs and toga parties and not spending nights terrified in shitty motels. It's ignoring the calls and voicemails from your brother and finally blocking his number, because there's no way you'll risk being talked into going back.

Twenty is the blank postcard from some town in Delaware that you've never heard of and another some months later from Florida – and it pisses you off, since it makes you think about your family, but you're also relieved, because it means they're still alive. It's happening across the most beautiful girl you've ever seen and using one of Dean's lines, without even realizing it, to ask her out. It's you starting to fall in love.

Twenty one is your first apartment and Jess and Christmas with a little tree and twinkle lights. It's Jess accidentally finding what few photos you've kept and her refusing to just let you bury them away in the back of your closet. It's the research project from hell and the kids in your study group gaping at your investigative skills – and you'll be damned if you tell them how they developed.

Twenty two is your whole world coming together. It's the interview and _Stanford Law_ and being scared to death again because – _holy shit_ – you're shopping for rings. It's normal and boring and _safe_… even if that damn nightmare repeats itself every night. Twenty two is your whole world falling apart. It's Dean breaking in, and Dad going missing, and one last hunt, just _one_ last hunt. It's the fire and fear and death and doubt and everything you'd worked so hard for being ripped away and utterly destroyed. And maybe it's also a chance to start putting things back together.

Maybe not.


End file.
